Lo Que Será, Será
by Decafff
Summary: Whatever will be, will be. Feelings change over time. Hank/OC. Rated M for imminent sexual nature. (If you speak Spanish and this title makes no sense, I used Google Translate, okay?)
1. Chapter 1

**I **

Marceline pushed her long skirt out of the way of her feet before smoothing it over her thighs to sit on the thin black bench in front of the piano. She'd lusted over this piano in the store for the past six months. A Bösendorfer. It was the most beautiful sounding grand piano she'd ever encountered—and she'd encountered a few. Her mother had bought her three since she started playing piano, seven years ago. A classic white one, a newer mahogany, and her current one, a tall black Belarus.

Marceline looked out through the audience, trying to find her mom and dad in the crowd. They were in the front row. She counted the seats in—seven. Seven seats from the left. She would remember that, for when she finished playing, so she could go find them.

They had finally paid for the piano. Not bought it. Not for her. Nothing that expensive on a 'hobby' that she would get over in the next couple years. Of course not. Even though the past three pianos had added up to much more than the Bösendorfer. They had just rented it for the past five or six recitals, to sate her hunger for it. But it hadn't worked. It just made her want it even more.

Tonight, she was playing an arrangement by Tchaikovsky. It was a slow, sort of simple piece. She didn't mind the simplicity, it just made her feel less nervous when she had to go in front of people to play it. She had mastered it in a matter of weeks, she didn't even need the music for it anymore.

She scanned the rest of the first few rows, there was a man, a large man. A very large man. He was so large, the width of his shoulders took up almost two seats. He was crowding the people next to him and was stooped over awkwardly and uncomfortably to keep from blocking the view of those behind him. Despite his awkward appearance, she observed that he was beautiful. Astonishingly so. He had long hair and a beard, a pair of spectacles perched on his lion-like nose. He was wearing a bow tie and a beautiful suit.

The most shocking thing about him wasn't his yellow eyes, set in a determined look, or his giant hands, which were covered in hair. It was his blue fur. She'd seen pictures of this man in the news before, but they were always black and white. He was a doctor of some type, and worked with this committee of people who were just as strange-looking as he was. There hadn't been much on TV about it, and she wasn't allowed to read the news. Her mother thought that it would make her too depressed. Which made sense, considering what she did see on TV with her father seemed pretty upsetting.

There was a cough from her mother—she knew it was her mother because of its location. First row, seventh seat from the left.

She knew she had to play something. She couldn't take her eyes away from the man. He adjusted his spectacles, making her smile. It was odd to see something like a giant gorilla wearing spectacles, but also strangely adorable. He had noticed her staring, as he now made eye contact with her, and gave her an encouraging nod. She knew she couldn't disappoint him And that meant she couldn't play Tchaikovsky. She needed to play something bigger than that. She needed to play Brahms.

Brahms had always been her favorite. Her father had played her his lullaby for the first eight years of her life. She had grown up with Brahms.

Piano Sonata No.3 was the first song that came to her mind, and her fingers started playing it with almost no encouragement. She knew it by heart, and had since she was nine. She knew she couldn't play the full song—she didn't even know the full song, just the first 20 minutes. And after the first 10, it was pretty dodgy.

She would have to improvise an ending.

Five minutes into the movement, she felt a burning in her fingers.

She ignored it. There wasn't much she could do, now. The same burning started under her shoulder blades and at the base of her spine. There was a cramping feeling in her lower abdomen as well.

Something was definitely wrong with her.

She only had another four minutes left before she would improvise an ending. She couldn't just cut it off now—it was in the middle of a crescendo!

The burning continued. It didn't hurt, it was just uncomfortable, like she was in a car with the heat to high up, or the sun bursting through the window on her face, or like the feeling of coming into a warm house after playing in the snow, or waking up on a cold morning and getting into the hot shower, extremities burning with the unfamiliarity of the warmth.

She knew she could make it through. Once all the heat had grown to encompass all of her spine, her shoulder blades and both of her arms, all the heat morphing together from the tips of her fingers, she felt the skin break beneath her shoulder blades, near her armpits.

She could feel something, blood perhaps, trickling down, and continued to ignore it, playing still. There was a gasp from the crowd, on the opposite side of her parents and the blue man.

After the feeling of hot liquid dripping down her back came the feeling of something forcing its way through her skin, from the inside out. She clenched her teeth and continued playing. She had to finish. For the beautiful, blue, man. Her arm felt like it was on fire, now. She could feel her skin ripping, starting at the elbow. She wanted to know what was wrong—what was happening to her.

"Marceline," her mother's voice came cutting through the silence of the crowd, over the loud Brahms. "Marcy..."

That's when her arm started to change. Her elbow seemed to disappear into a black nothingness until a large point busted through—something that looked like a wing, but was just solid, black, something. She stopped playing then, and reached to touch it. It felt sort of like a beetle's shell, only stronger. It would take more than a boot to break this, she could tell.

"Mommy..." she mumbled, looking at her mother first, then the blue man. He was staring back at her, his mouth slightly open to reveal sharp, white teeth.

She looked over her shoulder as her hands started changing, and watched as the tendrils coming out of her spine came in and connected to a spot on her upper arm. There were three red circles in a line down her arm, and two of them were connected to the tendrils, the same light shining out of the tip of them.

Her shoulder grew more of the spikes like on her elbow, and her hand changed into a large, three-pronged claw. She stood up, and felt her skirt rip as a tail came from the base of her spine.

Her blouse ripped away as well, as the spines from the base of the tail continued up the rest of her spine, connecting to the black plate-like structures on her shoulder blades, where the outgrowths were connecting to her arms. The same plate-like structure covered her chest, and spikes started protruding from her tail. The tail? She couldn't really consider it hers. More of the glowing red spots showed up on the tail, and more of the tentacle-like things went down to connect to them on her tail, leaving a ring of glowing around them. The same glowing rings were on her arms and her chest, where more of them connected there. She had these tentacles growing from her chest, and upper and lower back. The plating was in the shape of muscles, and if she moved her stomach, they moved with her.

She didn't feel fear. Not like she knew she should. The crowd was screaming, and her mother was clinging to her father in what was clearly terror. The blue man was sitting calmly in his seat, just staring at her. He seemed slightly on edge, like he would jump up at any moment to save all of the people here, should she lose control of what was happening to her.

Realistically, she didn't have any control. She just didn't feel the urge to kill or hurt any one, or freak out. She knew if she just stood still, no one would get hurt any worse than she was.

Everyone was screaming, and running out of the doors. More people busted through the doors that were void of any crowds. Marceline stood silently, staring at them. They held guns, and looked like police, but they couldn't be police. They wouldn't have guns that big. She knew that much.

They came onstage, and pointed their guns at Marcy, standing naked in front of them, with the odd covering of beetle-armor, and nothing else but her little cotton panties, and a pair of completely destroyed pantyhose, as well as her dress shoes, blood trickling over her whole body, coming from almost everywhere-even her nose. She knew what was happening to her, her mother had explained it. 'There came a time in every little girls' life, when she becomes a woman.' Her mother had explained something about a 'period' and 'blood' but had neglected to mention the guns and the tail. The tips of her claw-like fingers rested on the ground, disproportionately large compared to the rest of her tiny, twelve-year-old body. Her hands alone were almost a foot long, the claws coming to a needle-like point.

"Please don't shoot me," she whispered, staring at one of the men.

The blue man stood from his seat, and walked up the stairs on the side of the stage, removing his jacket as he approached Marcy. She stared at him and he lifted the large jacket up over her.

"Wait," she mumbled, and he stopped. "I'm sharp. I don't want to rip it..." The man gave a chuckle.

"I can always buy a new one," he answered, patting her head. She continued to just stare at him as he walked over to the group of men in uniform. Half of the guns switched targets, pointing now at the giant man in front of Marcy.

Marcy looked down at the spot where her parents were. Her father was standing, pulling on her mother's arm as she looked on with wide, scared eyes. She didn't want to leave, but her father was scared and was trying to get away from the men with guns... and from Marcy.

Her father had always looked at her in a strange way. Something close to how he looked now, but not so exaggerated. Something more subtle, in the back of his eyes. She had always known why-because of her eyes. She didn't have eyes like normal people. She never had. She'd heard her mother and father talking about it one time when she was 3, and could still remember it. He'd been expressing that she was a freak-that she needed some kind of surgery. Her mother had disagreed, saying her mismatched eyes made her unique. Her father disagreed, saying that no one with a white eye was normal. He made her wear contacts once she started school-dark brown, like his eyes.

There was a shot fired and Marcy turned to stare at the men with guns, now. There was blood coming out of the blue man's arm, and she felt a pain in her stomach. She looked down to see the bullet—covered in blood, with a bit of blue skin and hair attached to it—smashed against one of the weird plates of armor on her stomach. Suddenly in front of her there was a flash of blue and the men with guns were all down on the ground in an instant. The large, blue, man reached down and looked over her stomach. She wasn't hurt, it just stung a little when the bullet hit her.

"I'm Doctor Hank McCoy," he said, giving her a smile. She stared at him, not able to smile back.

"I'm Marceline Heaney," she answered quietly. She started to lift her arm up to shake but then put it back down. The claws that were once her fingers looked sharp. She didn't want to hurt this man.

"Where are your parents, Marceline?" he asked her, and she pointed.

"They're scared of me." She said, frowning deeply. He gave her another smile.

"They're not scared of you," he said, turning to her parents who still stared at the two of them in fear. He approached Marcy's mother first, offering her his hand and introducing himself. She was polite, and responded to him. Marcy's father was not, pulling his hand away from Dr. McCoy when he offered his own. Marcy walked down to them as well and reached out to her father, making him finally run from the room, the large doors swinging after him.


	2. Chapter 2

-II-

Marcy sat outside the office of Professor Xavier, hands-yes, hands. She was back to normal again-curled on her lap. She watched her feet as people walked past her, just giving her that confused look people gave you when they didn't recognize you, and were trying to analyze where they knew you from, or what you were doing in their familiar area.

She could hear her parents—her father in particular—yelling about how they needed to get Marcy fixed. She could hear the Professor, his deep, calm voice responding to her father's frenzied anger, but she couldn't understand exactly what he was saying. But he wasn't the only quiet one in the room. Her mother would interject occasionally, mostly asking for her father to calm down. And Dr. Hank McCoy. She knew he was in there. She had seen him when her parents had entered the room. There had been a large blue form in the corner, and he had smiled at her. She had smiled back and ran to him, showing him her hands—normal again. He had smiled back, and she told him thank you. He asked her if she wanted anything.

She had. But she couldn't just say that she wanted her father to go away. She couldn't just tell him that she didn't want to wait outside alone while people yelled about her fate less than ten feet away with only a 4-inch wall dividing them.

She couldn't say that she wanted to stay here so badly that she didn't care what her parents ended up saying, even though it seemed pretty obvious what her father wanted. The door slammed open and her father came busting out of the room, dragging her mother by the wrist, and Marcy stood. Her father was still yelling about something, but all Marcy could see was her mother's arm being squeezed by her father's large, meaty fingers. She could feel the tingling in her arms again, the familiar burning.

"Todd, you're hurting me," Marcy's mother mumbled, pulling at his hand. "Marcy, come on, we're going home."

"I want to stay," Marcy answered, as her father grabbed onto her arm but quickly pulled it away. He remembered, apparently what a monster his daughter was.

"We're leaving, Marceline." Mr Heaney shot, stomping down the hall.

"I'm staying." Marcy said again, not moving. The burning stayed in her fingers and at the base of her spine, and she glared down the hall. "You're hurting my mom." She said, feeling the flesh rip away from her bones, her claws. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. "Stop. Touching. My. Mom." She yelled, finally. Her father stopped what he was doing and turned to see Marcy glaring at him. Dr. McCoy stood in Professor Xavier's office doorway, watching the commotion. Marcy looked over her shoulder at him, hoping that he would help, that she wouldn't have to hurt her father. He stared at her, his yellow eyes filled up with some sort of empathetic emotion, that proved to Marcy he understood. He leaped into the air and grabbed onto rafters, swinging down the hall to where Mr. Heaney stood.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd take your hands off the lady." Dr McCoy said, grabbing Mr. Heaney's wrist between two fingers. "I also think that you should allow your daughter to choose whether to stay here or go to a 'Friends of Humanity' facility." Mr. Heaney dropped Mrs. Heaney's arm quickly and she caught her wrist in her own hand, holding it against her chest. Marcy stared down the hall at Dr. McCoy, only half able to hear what he was saying. She took a couple steps, holding onto her dress with her claw-fingers. She needed to either find a way to stop changing like this, or find some clothes that would survive the transformation.

The Doctor beckoned her down the hall, and Professor Xavier exited the office, sitting quietly in his wheelchair behind Marcy.

This was the first time she had seen him. She hadn't expected him to be bald. He wasn't the intimidating kind of bald, though. It was classy, and he still seemed kind. But that was mostly his eyes, she assumed, not the bald head. Bald heads rarely seemed kind. It was usually either scary or creepy. Which could be the same thing.

She hadn't expected him to be disabled, either... Or... not able to walk. She didn't know if 'disabled' was the right word for it. 'Handicapped' definitely didn't seem like the right word. She didn't think that being a professor could really go hand-in-hand with being handicapped. He smiled at her gently, and she realized she had been standing like a dope in the middle of the hallway, and Dr. McCoy was asking her to come over to that end of the hall.

She took a few steps forward and her father flinched when he looked at her. She looked down at the ground, and finished the 20 foot walk, dragging her feet.

Her father was scared to look at her. And her mother was scared of her father, which led her to be scared of Marcy.

"Marceline," Dr. McCoy said, holding his hand out. Marcy just stared at his hand, she was still afraid that her claws would be sharp and would hurt him. The blue man looked down at her and gave a slight chuckle before leaning down closer to her height. "Your father wants to take you to a Friend's of Humanity Reformation Clinic." Marcy nodded quietly. "And Professor Xavier and I think it would be much more beneficial for you to stay _here_, instead." Again, Marcy nodded. "Your mother thought that you should be allowed to say which you would prefer." Once more, a nod. "Do you understand the difference between the two different places?" This time, Marcy shook her head. McCoy nodded.

"Here, we'll help you to understand and work with your mutation. _There_, on the other hand, they will try to 'cure' you—"

"I want to stay here." Marcy said, simply. McCoy looked over at her parents, a sort of I-Told-You-So look on his face. Her mother nodded, and her father's face turned red, a vein shaped like a Y popping out on his forehead.

"She can't choose where she goes. I want her cured! She can't play piano with those things!" Marcy turned when she heard the quiet creak of wheels, and saw the bald professor sitting behind her in his wheelchair.

"She can, however, learn to cope with her... mutation." Xavier said, his voice still so calm and soothing. "And learn to control the transformations, so she can continue to play the piano. Here. At the Xavier Institute."

"And what will happen at the Friends of Humanity place?" Marcy asked, looking over at her father, still trying to please him by even asking, even though she hadn't even considered it. She didn't understand what everyone's problem with the Mutants was. She didn't think that they were any different from anyone else. They were all humans. Her parents had loved her when she was a human, and now that she was a mutant they were scared of her. But didn't her transformation the night before mean that she'd always been a mutant? From birth? And since it was a genetic mutation, didn't that mean her parents passed it down to her? She'd taken a biology class before, she knew how genes worked. They came from your parents. Did that mean her parents were mutants?

"Things a young girl, like yourself, shouldn't have to find out about." Dr. McCoy said, smiling down at her. "We've already explained the things they would put you through over there, to your parents. But they still seem to think that it's a good idea to send you there."

"I didn't," Marcy's mother piped up, standing close to the wall and away from Marcy and the giant blue man.

"She's going." Her father said.

"I'm staying here." Marcy responded, cringing as her arms starting burning again, changing back to normal hands again. This was going to get increasingly frustrating, she could tell. She took a step away from her father, towards the professor, and he held his hand out to her. She took it calmly, and looked to her mother, not her father. She knew that from now on, she wasn't going to be considered his daughter anymore, and felt okay with that. She didn't need a father. She needed to be in this place.

"Then it's settled." Xavier said, finally, looking around at the group of people in the hallway. "We'll get young Marcy enrolled in classes here straight-away." Marcy continued to cling onto Xavier's hand, her other hand keeping her dress from falling down. "We'll send for her clothes later tonight, unless you'd like to bring them up tonight?"

And then her father started yelling again, flinging profanities, and trying to argue, saying that Marcy's 'affliction' needed to be cured, as Marcy's mother grabbed at his arm, just saying "Todd, stop it," over and over again, as if anything could calm Mr. Heaney's Businessman Anger down.

"We got a problem, bub?" came a gruff voice from somewhere down the hall. A short, black-haired man stood, leaning against the wall, his hair styled into two strange points. He had the butt-end of a cigar hanging from betwixt his lips, large hairy arms crossed over his flannel-adorned chest. Brown suspenders held up his dirty, old jeans, work-boots poking out from the torn cuffs.

"What's this? A body guard?" Mr. Heaney scoffed, standing up to his six-foot-three full height. The black-haired man barely came to Marcy's father's nipples.

"Nah, I'm your escort for the night." The man grumbled, holding one arm up in a fist. With a loud _snikt _noise, three long knifes came from between his knuckles. "Best get your ass movin', bub."

"Logan," the Professor said, giving him a stern look.

"I'm sorry, little lady," said the man, presumably Logan. He gave Marcy a smile. It was terrifying, but she could tell it was sincere. She tried to smile back, but could only get half of her mouth to work, the other side apparently too disturbed by this little, scary man.

"Let's not threaten our guests, Logan." Dr. McCoy said, gesturing toward his claws. With the _snakt_ noise, the claws disappeared and Logan gave Marcy's father that same, scary smile, and gave him a sort of sarcastic half-bow before gesturing down the hall toward the entrance. Marcy's mother stopped next to Xavier and Marcy, leaning down to give her daughter a kiss on the forehead.

"I'll be back to see you soon," she whispered, before turning to Xavier. "Please take good care of her." She whispered, sort of gesturing to Logan, who was following behind Mr. Heaney very closely. Xavier gave a quiet chuckle.

"I assure you, he's one of our best teachers-"

"He's a teacher?" Mrs. Heaney cried, obviously horrified. Xavier chuckled again.

"He's surprisingly good with children. I promise you. I'm a great judge of character." Marcy's mother nodded, her face still scared, her cheeks were pink and dry from crying so much the past two days, and her eyes were wide with dark purple circles underneath them from not sleeping.

"Take care of her, please." She repeated, before gathering Marcy in a tight hug and then hurrying down the hall behind her husband.


	3. Chapter 3

-III-

It had been three years since Marcy had seen her father. Her mother had shown up a few times, bringing her clothes-her whole closet, in fact-that first night she was here, on some Christmas' and birthdays, and for every single music recital the school hosted. Marcy's mother had tried to come visit as much as possible, telling Marcy that her father had joined a few anti-mutant establishments and had been donating a lot of money to those types of places. Marcy's mother, though, had been trying to send as much money as possible to the Xavier Institute, finding most of the people there to be nicer and more accepting that most people in the real world.

She had to beg to get Xavier to send someone to bring her piano, and had to beg for even longer to get him to agree to adding a music class to the schedule. She'd even offered to teach it, saying that she could pick up any instrument and learn to play it in a couple of weeks if he would just spend some time to order the instruments.

He'd agreed eventually, finding a large group of other students were actually interested in learning music, and having Dr. McCoy agree that music was good for these stressed out kids. The first couple months had been hard, but she'd grown close to Dr. McCoy, and a few of the other girls here.

But now, she lay in bed, wide awake at two in the morning on a Sunday. She hadn't been able to sleep here in quite a while. Something always felt wrong. She didn't like her bed, maybe. Or didn't like the way this room was set up. There was something about it that she just didn't like.

She sat up in bed and looked around her room, trying to identify what she didn't like about it. She knew what it was, but she didn't quite want to admit it yet. She stood up and grabbed her fleece robe from out of the closet, pulling it on over her sleeping gown-just a large T-Shirt, really, and grabbed her favorite pillow, stuffing it underneath her arm.

Marcy left her bedroom, looking up and down the hall before closing the door behind her and tiptoeing up the stairs to the top floor. She looked up and down the fifth-floor hallway before jogging silently down to the last door on the right and knocking, very quietly. She knew that the man inside had probably heard her feet from the stairs, and was probably awake and ready to open the door anyways.

"Marcy," Hank said, his voice slightly agitated as he opened the door, rubbing a sleepy eye and putting his spectacles on.

"I can't sleep."

"I gathered as much," he mumbled, moving aside to let her in. She clutched her pillow to her chest and looked up at him, her big mismatched eyes sad and on the brink of tears. "What?" he grumbled, giving her another annoyed look.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled, taking a step back. "I didn't think I was being that annoying." Hank grabbed Marcy's arm gently and pulled her in, knowing that she was going to get into just as much trouble as he was if someone happened to come up the hall and saw them conversing this late at night.

"You're not annoying, Marceline." Hank answered, sitting heavily on the edge of his large bed. "I just need you to understand that it's not appropriate for a 15 year old girl to-"

"I'm almost sixteen."

"It doesn't change the fact that-"

"That I'm not a child anymore? Or that I'm still a child?" Hank sighed again, rubbing at the bridge of his lion-like nose. Marcy stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, still clinging to her pillow. "It was okay when I was 12." She mumbled, looking down at the floor instead of at Hank's beautiful face.

"It wasn't okay, then, either, Marcy."

"But you still let me do it." Hank sighed again. He just knew he was going to get in trouble soon. It had seemed more okay when she was 12, because she was considered a child, then. Now she was a teenager. She had gone through puberty and had turned into a beautiful young lady, and he knew, now, it was completely inappropriate for her to be coming in here to sleep every night. Like he had said, it was still probably not acceptable for her to be sleeping in here when she was 12, but it had seemed less strange to him. More like a father-daughter sort of thing-something that children needed when they were having nightmares. But he knew that her nightmares had subsided, and now she had just become accustomed to sleeping in his large bed with the extra warmth. "I can sleep on the floor," she mumbled, finally, watching his eyes watch her. "I just like to listen to you snore."

He gave a quiet sigh, one of the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. She knew she'd won.

Marcy took the final two steps across the room and sat down on one of his knees, snuggling close to him. He sighed again and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.

"How about you go back to your room, and I'll stay in there until you fall asleep?"

"I can't fall asleep until you're snoring." Marcy responded, coiling her arms around Hank's large, furred shoulders. Everything about him made her feel so relaxed. She could already feel her lids growing heavy, and closed them quietly. He sighed once more, and went quiet, just holding onto her until he could hear her breathing steady to a quiet rhythm. She'd fallen asleep after only minutes. He stuck her pillow onto the far side of the bed-knowing she'd always liked to sleep next to the wall-and laid her down on it, covering her with his already rumpled bedding.

Hank stood, and stretched, then went to sit in his arm-chair. Another uncomfortable night of sleeping in the non-recliner. Just once, he wanted her to sleep in her own room so he could sleep in his own bed. It had been almost three years since he'd slept without her in here, which meant it had been three years since he'd slept in his own bed. There had been occasional times when he got to-naps, school trips he didn't go on, times when she was at her parents' home-and times when he got to sleep in hotel beds, on missions and conferences. But those were far and few between these days.

* * *

For the next two years, Marceline had stopped going to Hank's room to sleep, feeling as though she had become much more of a burden than she wanted to be. On nights when she couldn't fall asleep, she'd just wander around the halls until she got drowsy from the boredom, and would go back to her room to fall asleep. She'd stolen one of Hank's pillows and always slept on that instead. She'd lied about his snoring-he didn't snore at all. She could her Logan's log-sawing every night that she slept up there, though. He was a lumberjack all around.-she just liked the comfort of Hank's smell, his body heat, his soft fur. She liked how large his hands were when he held her, covering almost her entire back.

"Marcy, you're not concentrating." Xavier's voice cut into her train of thought and she looked up at him sheepishly. He gave her a comforting smile, and a slight wink. "If you want to go see Dr. McCoy, your lesson can wait until tomorrow." He said, out loud this time. Xavier had finally caught onto the fact that when Marcy spaced out, she was way too far gone to try to talk to. He could only get her attention telepathically. Sometimes her mouth would fall open, and rarely some drool would escape. Logan used to tell her all the time that she was 'catching flies' after he would rap her on the back of her head to get her attention.

"No, I need to be here." She answered, looking down at the ground, still feeling sheepish, knowing he'd caught her fantasizing-could she call it that?-about Hank. Xavier smiled at her and let her regain her composure before he continued.

They were standing in the Danger Room, Marcy in her spandex-shorts and an overly-large tank top, covered in sweat already. Her hair was up in an awkward top-knot, too short to do much of anything else with to keep it out of her eyes. They were practicing getting control of Marcy's powers. She could control the transformations, now. To an extent. When her emotions got out of control, her powers got out of control.

The black, beetle-like exterior was some sort of adaptive creature...thing. It was there to protect her. Whenever she got angry, it would also get angry, and try to protect her from whatever she was upset about. But, it wasn't necessarily alive, and it wasn't a separate being from her. It was just like a squids' camouflage, Hank had explained. She didn't see how giant claws and a tail were anything like a squid's skin changing color, but she had agreed. She didn't understand one bit about what her powers were.

She knew they were good for breaking things, and that she was one of Mr. Summers' and Logan's favorites in Combat Training. She was strong, resourceful, and she was strategic. Things, Mr. Summers told her, were what the X-Men looked for in future leaders. But she was almost certain he told that to most young students to make them work harder.

Logan had taught her about meditation, saying that if it worked for the Hulk, maybe it would work for her. She didn't have anger-management problems, but when it came to situations where she needed to think clearly and not have her mind clouded with anger or sadness or any other emotion for that matter, she always had a hard time keeping her mind from getting taken over. She was an emotional being. She cried easily, and always got upset.

"Marcy," Xavier chimed again. Marcy shook her head, taking a couple deep breaths before looking up at him.

"I'm sorry, Professor." She said, again. "I've been so tired lately. Easily distracted."

"Why don't you go and talk to Hank?" He asked. "Something's troubling you." Marcy didn't doubt he knew exactly what, though.

"I'm okay, I promise." Marcy smiled, stretched and quickly transformed her arms into the claws, holding them out straight in front of her. The tail then sprouted from her spine and the armor plated the front of her legs, her back and chest.

"Good," Xavier said, quietly. "Now, think of all those things we talked about earlier, things that made you angry." Marcy closed her eyes, and concentrated.

_Dad storming out, scared of me. Mom not visiting anymore. Hank doesn't love me. The fear in dad's eyes. _

"Control it, Marcy." Came Xavier's voice, over her own thoughts. "Concentrate on spreading that anger over the rest of your body. Try and make the armor cover all of you."

_Dad was so scared of me. I'd never hurt anyone. I just want to be human. I don't want to be a freak. I'm not a freak. Why was he so scared? Was mom scared too? Hank will never love me as much as I love him. Did mom run away? Did she leave me, too? Or just dad? Did he make her leave?_

She could feel tears streaming down her face. She couldn't tell if it was the tears burning her cheeks or if she had finally succeeded in covering her face up with the armor. She reached up and touched her cheeks with the middle claw of each hand, and heard a resounding click. She'd made a helmet.

"Good job." Xavier said, grinning at Marcy. She grinned too, wondering how weird she looked with a face mask of beetle-shell. An image came to her, from Xavier, of her own face how it looked right now. Sometimes he was way too quick at answering her questions. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the image. Her face was just a plain black oval, like a mask, with two cut-outs where her eyes would be, one black and one white, just like her eyes.

"I guess it's not too bad." She mumbled.

"We could have saved a lot of time by just shooting a laser at her head, you know." Logan grumbled from a corner.

"Logan," Xavier responded, looking over at him.

"I'm just saying."

"She wouldn't have known how to control the armor, then." Xavier explained, to the both of them. "And that's what we're looking for. Not just if she can make armor wherever she's about to get harmed. Besides, if she hadn't been able to make it cover her head, and you'd fired a laser at her, what would we do then? Hope that Hank could put her poor head back together?" Logan shrugged, defeated, and Marcy chuckled, changing back to her normal self. She knew, that even if Logan did think that it would have been the best way to make her change, he would never do it. He liked her, even if he wouldn't ever say it out loud. She was just likeable.

Logan came over to her and patted her on her head, one hand on his hip still. She grinned at him, and he smiled quietly. "Good job, today." He said, finally. "Chuck 'ere's gonna give you a lecture, now." He said, nodding toward Xavier as he paced from the room. 'Chuck' sighed quietly, shaking his head as the doors closed behind Logan.

"What am I getting lectured about?" Marcy said, fearfully. She didn't feel as though she'd done anything wrong. "Am I in trouble?"

"It's not a lecture..." Xavier responded. "And you're not in trouble." Marcy stared at him, worried and confused. Her eyes were wide and she was chewing on one of her nails.

"Hank loves you." He finally said. She blushed brightly. She couldn't keep herself from thinking about that when she was trying to think of things that made her angry. And Xavier had known that. Of course he had known that. "He thinks of you as a daughter, and you want something completely different, but understand that he can't feel that way about you, because of the age-gap, yes?" Marcy's cheeks felt like they were on fire. Xavier took her silence-oral only-her mind was going crazy with excuses, trying to come up with something to say to get off this subject. What if someone had heard? She didn't want this to be news. She didn't want everyone to find out about her crush on Hank. "He loves you very much, Marcy." He finished, giving her a smile and touching her hand gently. She stayed bright red, looking down at the ground.

"I know he does..." She mumbled. She knew she never had to say anything around Professor Xavier, but she always felt the need to. "But I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. I've always... liked him in that way." She said, after a long pause. "And I know that he's never going to like me that way, too. It's too weird. But it's been almost five years." Xavier nodded, knowing what she was going to say, now. "I'm eighteen, now. I should at least be allowed another chance."

"You need to go talk to him. You haven't in a long time."

"Yes I have-"

"Not like you used to." Marcy looked down at the ground.

"But Trish." Xavier shrugged, and wheeled himself out of the Danger Room. "I'm not saying you should talk to him about _that _specifically. I'm just saying that maybe, now that you're an adult, you should give him another chance. Don't you think?" He shot a smile over his shoulder at her before the doors closed.

Marcy sighed quietly, wishing that Logan hadn't left so she could train with him or something. Now she was much too embarrassed to talk to Hank again.


	4. Chapter 4

-IV-

There was a knock at the door and Hank stood from his bed, taking note of the page number of The Tempest, and setting it aside. He went to answer the door, honestly wondering who would be at his door at 1 in the morning. He wondered who would be knocking at any door of his at 1 in the morning. He just wondered. A lot.

It was a very strange time to be bothering someone, he thought, opening the door .

"I couldn't sleep," came the tired voice of Marceline. He gave a quiet sigh and moved out of the way.

"You look awfully sleepy for someone who hasn't been asleep."

"Okay, I had a bad dream and it woke me up." She corrected, entering the room, pillow and favorite blanket in tow. She was wearing a long t-shirt, and he hoped shorts under there.

"What about?" She made a face.

"I forgot."

"Then you should probably head back to your own bed, don't you think?" She made another face. "I mean, if you can't remember it, then what are you scared of?"

"It was scary, Hank." Marcy whined at him. "I'm scared." Hank sighed and sat back down on his bed, and Marcy sat down next to him, tossing her pillow up next to his pillows. He stayed quiet.

"You just want to sleep in here." She gave no answer. "Did you really have a bad dream?"

"I don't know. I woke up sad. And I wanted to be in here."

"What kind of sad?"

"That 'my-parents-haven't-seen-me-in-8-years' kind of sad." She mumbled. "It wasn't the reason I was sad, it just felt the same as that. Really deep sad, you know?" Hank nodded.

"So did you have a nightmare?" He asked her, looking over at her mess of curls-it always got frizzy and stand-uppy when she slept.

"Sort of." Hank stayed quiet, knowing she'd take her time and tell him about it once she got it all rearranged in her head. "I... I had a dream where you weren't there anymore." She looked up at him quietly. He nodded, waiting for more explanation. "You left. Because you didn't like me anymore. Because I told you something, and it made you angry. And you didn't want to talk to me anymore." He nodded.

"Do you remember what you told me?"

"I told you I loved you." Hank chuckled softly and she stuck her bottom lip out at him.

"And why would that make me angry?" he asked her, grabbing her and pulling her up onto his lap, sitting with her the way the used to sit almost every night before she would fall asleep. Her arms went around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I love you, Marcy." He said, simply.

"But I love you differently than you love me." She mumbled, still holding onto him. He was quiet for a moment.

"I know," he answered, not letting go of her. He felt her temperature rise and looked down at her. She was bright red. "Well," he said quietly. "You should have known that I knew. You're a terrible liar." She let out a groan of anguish, covering her face.

"God, everyone knew, didn't they?"

"Knows." Hank corrected, coughing quietly when she shot him a glare. "Sorry." Marcy groaned again and Hank gave her a squeeze.

"But look at this." He said, smiling. "I haven't left. I still like you. I'm not angry, _and_ I'm still talking to you." She just blushed brighter and he turned her chin up to look down at her bright pink cheeks and black-and-white eyes.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're never going to love me like I love you." Hank was silent, just looking at her. He was so beautiful. She wanted to kiss him, but didn't know what she was supposed to do. "I've made things weird, see?" She said, finally, standing up. Her hands came up and then were tossed down-childlike-to her sides again in sort of a mini-tantrum.

"Marcy," Hank mumbled, watching her.

"It's gonna be weird no matter what. I get that. Weird for you. I guess." She went on, ignoring him completely. "There's no way you can say that you've loved me like that cos it would be weird cos I was just a kid. I'm still probably a kid to you. You think I'm like a daughter. There's no way that could ever be normal, right?" Hank sighed, looking down. Now he didn't know what to do, either.

"Marcy, I love you."

"Yeah, I know." She answered, looking down. "Goodnight, Hank." She climbed over to the edge of the bed and grabbed her pillow-his pillow-and stood up again. Hank grabbed her and wrapped her up in a long-armed hug.

"I don't think you're a child anymore. I know you're... Grown up, now." He muttered, loosening his grip so she could clamber out of his arms and sit next to him on the bed again. She watched him quietly, still trying to figure out what she was supposed to do. He didn't do anything, just watched her quietly. And then, she leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, Hank." She said, simply. He stayed quiet, a look of deep thought crossing his face, eyebrows furrowed in it. "Can I please sleep in here?" She asked, very quietly, her teeth poking out over her bottom lip as she bit into it. He took a deep breath in, and looked away.

"Marcy, I don't think that would be best-"

"Just tonight." She said, cutting him off. She interrupted him so often. It was a wonder he ever got to talk. "I want to sleep... In bed with you. Not with you in the chair. Next to me. I want you to sleep next to me." She finally stammered, her cheeks turning bright red again. He reached out to touch her bright red cheek, thumb grazing over the mess of freckles there. Her eyes were all a-water, and he knew that if he said no, she would start crying, and he would feel the need to comfort her, and she would fall asleep in his arms anyways, and he wouldn't have the heart to move her. It was the same as when she was a child.

"Just tonight." He answered. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, hiding her face in the fur on his cheek, just breathing him in. Hank sighed again, feeling her breasts on his shoulder-a definite sign she was now an adult and not a child, if he was even starting to second-guess that again. She clambered over to the inside of the bed, and he gave a half-smile, knowing she was probably going to always be so... Childlike. It was what he had liked in her. Those big eyes. The fact that she needed protecting. That she wore her heart on her sleeve, and never worried what people thought about her. That she was so innocent, and always tried to see the good in everyone.

But he was still worried. Anyone could find out about this. And when they did, he didn't know how far they would take it. She was only barely 18. There was nothing sexual going on, sure, but to find out that a student and a teacher had been found sleeping in the same bed together-or if someone saw her sneaking out in the morning, there was no telling what could occur.

"Marcy, maybe this isn't a good idea." He finally said, looking over at her. She frowned back at him, already laying down and obviously comfortable underneath his covers.

"Why?" She asked. There was that innocence, again. He looked over her face. Maybe she wasn't so innocent. Maybe she knew exactly what she was getting herself into and didn't care.

"You... Oh," he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, sighing deeply. Even if someone saw her leave now, someone would think the same thing. It was almost 2 in the morning, now. What else would a girl be doing leaving a man's room at that hour? Studying? Bah! He had gotten himself into quite the predicament.

He knew that he would at least have a few telepaths on his side, but what if rumors started? What if someone besides Xavier or Jean saw? The rumors, oh, the rumors. He could lose his job. He could lose his degree. His credibility. He was screwed, either way. If he let her leave now or if he kept her in here until morning. He could literally lose everything.

"What?" Marcy asked, sitting up now and watching Hank deal with all his inner turmoil.

"Oh, it's too late now." He mumbled, still pinching the bridge of his nose. He was never going to fall asleep, now. Her small, long-fingered hand came up to rest against his, pulling it away from his face.

"Too late for what?" She asked, quietly, looking him over with big sad eyes. "Too late to ask me to leave?" He said nothing, but covered his face now with the hand she wasn't holding. "I can go if you want..."

"Someone will see you." He answered forlornly. She couldn't help but smile.

"Then it is too late." She whispered back, knowing he couldn't see the sly look on her face. "And I guess you're stuck with me." He let out a long groan of anguish, still covering his face. Of course he would think of all the terrible things that would happen. She scooted closer to him on the bed, kneeling behind him. She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck again, nuzzling against his hair. "No one's gonna know I was in here." She said, finally, when she got no response from him. "No one ever knew before." She went on, hands splaying through the fur on his chest. Both of his hands went up to his face, now, and he continued to make depressed, defeated noises.

"I'm going to lose my job." He answered, his voice a quiet, embarrassed whine.

"No you aren't. The Professor would never fire you." She answered, kissing his cheek. "Can we go to bed?" she said, leaning over his shoulder to look at his anguished face. "I'm sleepy. I want to cuddle with you." She said, tugging on him, trying to get him horizontal. He obeyed, mumbling something about how it was too late anyways, and he might as well just give up. He laid down next to Marcy and she leaned over him, pulling his hands away from his face. He looked up at her with sad eyes, and she just sighed at him, pulling her t-shirt over her head.

She didn't have anything on.

She was naked.

She had been sitting on his lap. Naked. And now she was sitting on his bed. Naked.

Was it inappropriate?

He had known her since she was 12. He was ten years older than her. Twenty-eight years old, and she was only 18. She was like a child.

"Marcy..."

"I can't wear clothes to bed. It feels like I'm suffocating." She answered, not even listening to what he was going to say. She turned to him, reaching over him to turn off his lamp, and he looked away from her small breasts.

"I don't think that-" Marcy just curled up next to him, face pressed in his chest. He sighed, covering his face once more.

"Don't think what?"

"I don't think that you should be... Not wearing clothes."

"The light's off. It's not like you can see." She answered, pulling his hands away from his face again to wrap one around her shoulders. She pressed up against him and sighed in comfort. He could feel everything. He didn't need to see to know that there was a naked girl in his bed. Not just a girl. A student. Naked. In his bed.

"Oh, god." He mumbled. Her arm coiled around him, laying across his soft, furred, chest, and her head sat on his shoulder. His arm instinctively went around her, holding her close, but his other hand stayed pressed against his face. Marcy grinned and snuggled closer to Hank, pulling on his arm to make him hold her tighter.

"Hank?" She whispered, tugging at his other hand, trying to pry it away from his face. He let it drop to see her holding herself over him now, a smile on her face. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness already, and he could already see everything again. Her tiny breasts, the dark nipples, her ribs poking out from her tiny frame-he had always wondered how she stayed so tiny with all the junk food she ate. Her favorite food, he swore, was butter-and the tattoo above her hip, which he had somehow never noticed before. He wanted to look closer and observe what it was, but he knew if he looked, he would see something he would regret in his peripheral. But he was curious-about two things. One was the typical curiosity that any man in his situation would share-was it shaved?-and the rest was just wondering what the tattoo was.

_For science!_ he mentally proclaimed, glancing down quickly. Hair, yes. A little triangle of light brown curls, clipped close to her pubis. Tattoo, a heart made from a bass and treble clef. He looked back up at her face and then quickly he closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Yes?" he answered, finally, not looking at her. He felt one of her hands set against his chest, fingers splaying through the fur there. He swallowed again, and he was certain she could feel his heart beating excessively faster.

"Will you kiss me?" She asked, her hand moving up to touch his cheek. Hank slowly opened one eye, then the other. She wasn't smiling anymore, just staring down at him, her giant eyes sad, the left one almost invisible in the dark while the right one stood out bright and white. He realized one of his hands was setting against her side, and he reached the other one up to her cheek, touching her with just a thumb. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He nodded, his mouth slightly open, and she smiled down at him again. She leaned down to him and kissed him, much deeper than he had expected. He thought it would just be a little peck, but she was coming in full-force, her fingers tugging gently on his beard.

His eyes closed, and he gave in, kissing her back, letting her hands wander over his shoulders and his chest. His, however, stayed where they were. One against her cheek, the other on her lower back, feeling the bones in her spine. He couldn't help it. He wanted to touch her so badly, but didn't know how he was supposed to go about touching someone he had never thought of in this light. He didn't even know if she wanted him to touch her.

He felt her hands moving south, over his stomach and across the elastic band of his sleep pants. A nervous flutter erupted through his stomach, and he hesitated for a moment, pulling back from her mouth. He grabbed her wrist and set her hand against his chest again, giving her a stern look. She responded with that sad look, and he kissed her lightly.

"Why?" she asked quietly, her fingers curling and unfurling in his chest hair. He sighed quietly, reaching up to run a hand through her curls.

"Because," he said, quietly. "I'm already borderline suicidal as it is. I don't think a student affair would make things any better." She stayed quiet for a moment, just looking over him. He touched her cheek lightly with the hand that had been buried in her hair a second ago, his hands roving over her back and sides, just touching her, but trying to keep his hands in places that wouldn't be frowned upon.

"Well," she whispered. "I graduate tomorrow. What does that mean?" He sighed at her again, and she stuck her lips out at him in a pout.

"It means I'll still be in trouble tomorrow." He answered, tugging her down again to kiss her.


	5. Chapter 5

-V-

Hank sat with Marcy in the music room, watching her as she practiced the song she was going to be playing for the end-of-the-year party. The graduating class would get their diplomas, have a little graduation ceremony, and then all the students and teachers would have a sort of celebration-food and music and drinks, the good things in life-for the beginning of summer. Not that classes really ever ended. It was just a good time to mark when the kids could leave.

Hank had been repeating the events of the night before over and over in his head. He didn't know if he was supposed to let Trish-his current girlfriend-know about what had happened. It's not like it was really something he could just talk about. What was he supposed to say? "Hey Trish! How are you? Oh, I'm just fine. I made out with a student for like 2 hours last night, and let her sleep, naked, in my bed all night. Yeah, it was fantastic. So how's the weather?"

"Do you like it?" Marcy asked, interrupting Hank's train of thought. He looked over at her sheepishly. She shrugged. "It's alright. I knew you weren't listening. I'm just always curious what you'll say." She said, just smiling. "What are you thinking about?" Hank was quiet for a moment more.

"Trish." He said, simply, deciding it was best to at least be honest in one of his affairs. Marcy nodded quietly. He knew that she didn't like Trish. She was superficial and, as Marcy so delicately put it, a bitch. Marcy turned back to the piano, playing a different song, now, something he had heard her playing many times before. He was fairly certain she had called it 'Porcelain,' the one time he had asked her what it was called.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked him, her voice quiet as her fingers played out the familiar song, her torso rocking slightly to the quiet, gentle rhythm of the music.

"I haven't quite decided, yet." He answered, watching her quietly. He looked back down at the book he had sitting across his knee.

"What about with me?" Her voice seemed to have gotten even quieter with this question, as if hesitant in case someone else entered the room. Hank sighed quietly, pulling his spectacles off to press his fingers against his eyelids.

"I don't know, Marcy." She nodded quietly, reaching the end of the song, and starting a new one without much hesitation.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled, fingers twinkling across the the keys, this song much louder than the last. It seemed that every song she played sounded sad, or at least forlorn. He stood and walked over to her, standing behind her. She looked up at him, her fingers missing a key in her distraction, hitting a gross sharp note in the middle of the delicate melody. She pulled her hands down into her lap and he touched her chin, her throat, and leaned down to kiss her.

"Everything will be fine." he whispered, smiling at her. She smiled back, touching his cheek as he straightened himself and exited the room quickly. She returned to the piano, just excited that she had gotten another kiss, today. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe he would leave Trish. Maybe she would get a chance with him. Maybe things would work out for her for a while.

* * *

Marcy had informed Hank that the song she would be playing that night for the graduation party was called _Melancholy Morning._ It was a soft, quiet, song, her specialty. She loved those forlorn, melancholy songs. She just liked things that were depressing, he had noticed. Most of her favorite movies were ones that made her cry, and she never liked a book unless she was sobbing. She was a strange one. She did claim, however, that the reason she had never gotten a sinus infection was because she was constantly crying. She said it was good for her 'nosie.'

She wore a tiny black dress with a long gold chain wrapped around her neck, some sort of gold beetle charm at the end of it. She hated bugs-of all types, even butterflies apparently grossed her out, and a moth fluttering around a light bulb could make her run from the room screaming-but had some sort of obsession with beetles.

Marcy smiled across the room at Hank from her seat at the piano. Her shoes had come off somewhere throughout the night, sitting on the bench beside her. He smiled back before he had to return to shaking parent's hands. He glanced up at her again, seeing her lips poking out sadly. The piano music started playing, and Hank frowned. She had spent almost the entire night playing that piano and hadn't spent any time talking to her friends, and had almost completely ignored him, except for that smile. But, he realized, it's not like she could come over and be social with him-hang off his arm, let him kiss her-he had been introducing himself to parents as a teacher here, and when they had asked who the girl playing the piano was, he had told them she was a student. It's not like that wouldn't have caused some rumors to start. He was surprised that no one had seen them in the music room earlier. He was surprised no one-not even Jean or Xavier-had brought up the night before, either.

He knew, that soon, he would be in trouble, none the less.

* * *

At the end of the party, Hank had wandered over to the hallway leading to the music room, knowing that that's where he would find Marcy. He wanted to talk to her about taking a nice round-trip train ride out to the country and back into the city for the Opera and some dinner. He prided himself on his romantic dates.

Marcy was halfway down the hall, single-handedly shoving the big, black piano-stacked up on little scooters under each of the 3 legs-towards the music room. She grunted with each shove, her tight-clad feet slipping beneath her. She had her shoes on top of the piano, knowing that her heels were much too high to be any help with traction.

"Would you care for some assistance?" he asked her, trying to hold back a chuckle. She jumped, and turned sheepishly, her cheeks red.

"You scared me," she said, setting her hand against her chest. "But yes, yes I would."

"No one else offered help?" he continued, coming to the piano's side to help shove. Marcy put her hands back against the side, knowing full-well that Hank could do it on his own, but wanting to assist none the less.

"No one even offered to help me put this thing on the cart." She answered, running around to hold open the music room's doors.

"You did that yourself?" He asked, chuckling quietly. She made a face and he quieted.

"I had to transform." she whispered, putting a hand to the side of her mouth, as if it was a secret. She transformed one of her hands and held it up. "These things work pretty well as levers." She showed him, sticking a long, clawed finger beneath one of the feet of the piano and rocking it back so the foot lifted from the cart. She then slid out the little scooter, set the leg down, and moved onto the next. He chuckled again. She was very innovative.

"And guess what?" she continued after the two of them put the piano back where it had started earlier in the night. She put her shoes on and the two of them exited to go get the bench and music sheets to bring them back to the music room as well. "Xavier pulled me aside earlier." She grinned, obviously filled with excitement. "And guess what he said. Guess." Obviously, she could barely control her joy.

"What?" Hank answered, smiling back at her. Xavier had told him the news already, and he knew that she would be disappointed if she didn't get to tell him.

"He asked me to be an X-Man." She grinned widely. Hank grinned back. "So I'm not going away for college. I get to stay right here. He told me I didn't have to get any schoolin', and that I could stay as the music teacher!" She did a little dance that mostly just involved her stomping her little heel-clad feet and clapping her hands. Hank grinned back at her. "I get my uniform sorted out tomorrow, and I get to pick my codename!" She spun around this time, her childish excitement obviously much too much for her to contain, now.

"Well," Hank said, once she had collected the music from the floor in the middle of the room and he had picked up the stool. "As congratulations, would you like to go see an opera tomorrow night?" She smiled up at him.

"A date?"

"I suppose it could be." He answered, setting the stool in front of the piano once they had arrived back in the music room. Marcy scooted it closer to the piano and started stuffing the music sheets into a folder she had found somewhere on a shelf. She came back to the stool and plopped down on it contentedly.

"Of course I'd like to go on a date with you, Hank." She said, grinning still.

"I was thinking maybe in the afternoon we could take a train ride out to the country, and loop back around to the city to see the show." She was still grinning, her fingers going up to set against keys of the piano.

"That sounds amazing." She responded, playing a chord, overlapping it with a tinkling of keys. He sat back in the chair he had been occupying earlier in the day, watching her play.


End file.
